


I Keep On Falling

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dancing, Declarations Of Love, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Gay Bar, Jealous John, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, mary doesn't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:04:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11512761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: Attending an event for couples only, John is prepared to hold Sherlock's hand, call him his husband and even share the same bed. But then, with Sherlock Holmes, nothing goes as expected.





	I Keep On Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Irrevocably_Sherlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/gifts).



> Hi everyone!
> 
> This is a birthday gift to my amazing beta Heather, I hope you're having an awesome day! I tried to put in there as much of your favorite tropes, and I hope you'll enjoy this little gift! Thank you for being the best each time I wrote something, I wouldn't be able to post anything without you <3
> 
> Pauline
> 
> (and thank you to xtina for editing this story <3)

John rubs a hand over his neck, stretching it slowly by rolling it in slow circles and wincing in pain. He shouldn’t have tackled the suspect like that or, at least, he should have looked around before doing it. He was lucky the rock hadn’t hit his skull or else he’d be on his way to the hospital right now. Sherlock had almost forgot entirely about the suspect’s wife when John’s body had hit the ground, and for a second John had been certain he saw pure panic in his friend’s eyes. But then Sherlock had been ruining again, making sure to stop her before she could escape, and now John can’t seem to find him anymore. The DI they had called just before ruining after the couple is now cuffing them both, and John looks around him once more, desperately trying to catch sight of dark curls among the crowd. 

“Thanks again mate,” the DI calls next to him, and John glances back at him. “We’ve been trying to catch these two for weeks.”

“We were happy to help,” John smiles, wondering when he’ll be able to escape without being noticed.

“Your husband’s not here?” the DI asks, and for just a second, John doesn’t understand what he’s talking about. “I’d like to thank him too.”

John swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and tries his best to sound as natural as possible when he replies, “I’m sure he’s not far.”

“You must never be bored with a man like that,” The DI laughs, winking at John.

“I sure am not, yeah,” John replies, feeling more and more uncomfortable talking about this without Sherlock. He had been the one to come up with this charade, pretending to be married so they could solve the case, and they hadn’t really had the time to think about the details before getting here. “Actually, I should go look for him,” John smiles, “You’ve got my number in case you need anything.”

“Yes, sure,” the DI replies, still smiling broadly at him. “I’ll probably give you a call during the week end to fill in the possible blanks in your deposition.”

“Alright,” John nods, already walking away. “Good luck with closing this case!”

He doesn’t turn around as the DI thanks him once more, and in less than a minute, he’s far enough to finally take a deep breath. Christ, Sherlock had assured him the case wouldn’t take long and yet it’s already past 1am, and all prospects of getting back home for the night are fading away. They had arrived eight hours ago, and despite the three hour car ride to the hotel, John hadn’t found the courage to ask Sherlock what their cover was exactly. He understood why they needed to pretend to be together since the event is for couples only, but he it didn’t stop him from imagining what their life as an actual married couple would be.

It’s not as if he didn’t think about it practically all the time lately, ever since his clothes and belongings had found their rightful place in 221B again. It could be so easy, just to reach out for Sherlock one morning and finally,  _ finally _ seal their lips. It would only feel natural after all these years longing for it, wondering about  _ what if _ and  _ would he? _ So yes, when Sherlock had declared they were now married for an entire day and needed to act like it, John had thought it could be it, thought he could get taste of it and see for himself if Sherlock was just as desperate for more as he is.

But of course for that he needed to find Sherlock again. They barely had the chance to actually play a married couple yet; just when they had registered at the reception and then when they had sat with some other couples at their table. But even then, Sherlock had been too engrossed in the case to pay attention to whatever John was saying or what was happening around them, and only when John had laced their fingers together had he seemed to remember he was there.

“John!”

John turns around, holding back a sigh of relief, “Where were you?”

“Quick, follow me,” Sherlock replies, ignoring his question entirely and reaching for his hand. John barely has the time to react before he’s threading their fingers, holding on tightly. “The hotel owner wants to offer us a drink.”

“And you accepted?” John frowns, letting Sherlock lead them both back toward the reception room.

“It’s too late to drive home, and you hadn’t been able to take advantage of the free bar since we arrived. Surely you’d want something to drink now,” Sherlock replies all too fast for John to follow.

“I don’t have to-” he begins, but a tall, muscular man interrupts him by shaking his free hand all the sudden.

“Thank you Mr. Watson, you saved this evening!”

John stares at him. “You’re welcome.”

“Your husband explained everything. If I had known thieves were attending the event tonight, I would have taken care of them myself!”

“Not very clever,” Sherlock remarks, but the owner ignores him.

“Come and have a drink - I insist,” the man tells John, already walking toward the bar. “Have you seen your room already?”

“Not yet, no,” John replies, accepting the seat next to him and realising he’s still holding on to Sherlock’s hand. He lets go slowly, Sherlock going to sit facing him, and John offers him a small smile.

“If there’s anything wrong, come find me personally, I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure the room is fine,” Sherlock replies, playing his character perfectly and even smiling to the man.

John looks away, staring at the few people dancing or talking, and wondering once again what the hell he’s doing here.

“Is it the first time you’ve participated in this kind of event?” the owner asks, seeming actually interested in the question.

John glances at Sherlock, wondering what he’s supposed to say, and let's out a relieved breath when Sherlock answers in his place: “Yes. We were looking for something new to try and found an ad on the internet.”

“Lots of couples come back after they first try,” the owner smiles. “It’s such a privilege to be able to meet people who share the exact same interests as you, isn't it?”

“Yes,” John smiles, remembering that all the couples gathered here today are either police officers or married to one. “We heard some really interesting stories earlier.”

“What about you, then?” the owner asks, winking at Sherlock. “What’s your story?”

John represses a sight, understanding that the man is only trying to retain his clientele, and he’s about to say they should go and get some sleep when Sherlock replies, having apparently thought about all this, “John and I met when I was looking for a flatmate, over six years ago now. But we didn’t share our mutuals feelings until ten months ago.”

“And you’re already married,” the owner exclaims, surprised.

“When you’ve been in love with someone for years, marriage come easily,” Sherlock replies, and John has to close his eyes, just for a second. “It felt natural to make it official even after so little time.”

“Wait, are you saying you two have been living together for years and only got together recently?”

“Living together, and wishing for more for years too,” Sherlock corrects him, and this time John can’t hold back.

“Sherlock is such a difficult man to read,” he says, his voice almost too soft. “I couldn’t be sure he wanted the same things as me, and it took us both years to realise we were being idiots all along.”

Sherlock’s eyes meet his for the briefest of seconds before focusing back on the owner. “Talking has never been our strong suit, and with everything our work put in the way, it felt as if it just wasn’t meant to happen.”

“Well, you two found each other in the end, and that’s all that matters,” the owner smiles, having apparently better things to do now and already getting up. “I hope you’ll come to our next event, and thank you again for tonight.”

“For sure, yes,” John smiles, watching him walk away and suddenly becomes aware of Sherlock’s silence. He glances at him, “Bed?”

Sherlock meets his eyes, shaking his head, “You go ahead, I’ll be up soon.”

“I can stay with you if you want,” John offers.

“Don’t worry, we don’t need to pretend anymore,” Sherlock replies, getting to his feet and fixing his suit. “Go get some sleep, we’ll leave early tomorrow.”

“Right,” John nods, ignoring the knot in his chest and finishing his drink quickly. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, not bothering to reply before walking away too. John watches until he disappears out of the room, and he forces himself to regain some composure. The sooner he gets to bed, the sooner they’ll be able to go home and forget about all this.  _ As if it just wasn’t meant to happen _ , Sherlock had said, and right now, John couldn’t help but think he was, as usual, perfectly right.

The room is, as expected, stunning. John stares at the double bed for a long moment, trying to imagine what it would be like to cross this line with Sherlock and go right for the bed, together. He closes his eyes, almost hearing Sherlock’s light laughter echoing in the room, and he clenches  both hands into fists, shaking his head. Going for the bathroom, John heads for the shower, letting the hot water relax his still-sore muscles. He’s not sure how long he remains there, thinking of pale skin and shared laughter, but each minute that goes by makes it harder to get out and face the large, empty bed.

What was Sherlock doing? And why hadn’t he come up right away? Was it because of what they had to share with the owner, because of how close it felt to reality, because of what John said? He hadn’t meant to, had thought Sherlock could do all the talking, but the words had breached his mouth before he could stop himself. He can’t remember just how many times he’s been craving to talk about this, to finally let it all out and face the consequences.

Refusing to continue pining any longer, John turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He glances at his phone, twenty minutes having gone by, and he checks quickly if Sherlock hasn’t sent him a text, but nothing. He considers sending one, just to make sure he’s still alive, but decides against it. Changing quickly into his pajamas, John goes directly to bed, not once looking at the empty spot next to him. He turns off the light, keeping his phone with him and going through their emails, already looking for another case to keep Sherlock busy. It’s not until several minutes later that he realises Sherlock is taking rather long to join him. Almost an hour has passed already and John can’t help but worry. He sends a first text, waiting two minutes before sending the second one, and by the third he’s already changing back into his jeans and shirt.

It doesn’t take long to go back downstairs, and he walks around the reception room for a long moment before realising Sherlock is definitely not there. Avoiding one of the couples they ate with, John escapes the room and goes to the lobby, scanning which different areas are inside the hotel. Two wedding receptions, one conference room and three bars. John gives up on the first three and hurries to check the first bar, closed, the second without a trace of Sherlock and by the time he pushes the door open to the last one, John is slowly growing more and more worried.

The first thing he notices is the  _ loud _ music, the bright colors and a hand brushing his arse followed by quick laughter. John can’t help but smile, remembering the last time Harry dragged him to a gay bar and the man he had spent the night with afterward. Looking for the highest spot in the room, John scans the bar and improvised dance floor quickly. The wave of relief rushing through when he finally finds Sherlock is replaced by an overwhelming jealousy when he catches sight of the man pressed against him, the two of them engrossed in some sensual, almost erotic dance in the middle of the crowed.

John acts before he can stop himself, practically running to the dance area and already thinking about pushing Sherlock against the nearest wall and kissing the breath out of him. Too blinded by his own jealousy, John collides with a couple dancing and almost falls on his arse.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, but the two men aren’t even looking at him. John closes his eyes, forcing himself to breathe out slowly and regain some self control.  _ Sherlock chose to come down here, chose to dance with this man, chose to go alone, without me. _ They could have both gone up to their room, could have got into bed together and who knows, John could have even reached for Sherlock’s hand under the cover and let chance do the rest. But no. Sherlock had chosen to come here instead, to dance with someone else, to spend the night with someone else.

Ignoring the pain spreading throughout his entire chest, John looks around him, prepared to forget about Sherlock bloody Holmes entirely. His eyes meet those of a man leaning against the nearest wall, and with a curl of his lips, John makes sure he’s not going to remain there a second longer. Not taking his eyes off him, John watches as the man slowly gets closer until they’re face to face. John doesn’t bother introducing himself, pulling the man against him right away and beginning to sway to the music slowly. He closes his eyes, trying to repress the screaming voice inside his head, and doesn’t say anything when a hand grips his arse firmly. They remain like this for a long moment, dancing together and letting their bodies grow bolder, and it isn’t long until John can feel something hard against his hips.

His eyes snap open, finding he’s isn’t aroused a single bit himself, and just as he’s about to pull away and stop this stupid game, he catches Sherlock’s eyes fixed on him. Unable to look away, John takes in the spark of confusion but also something much darker there, and he can’t repress a wave of burning jealousy when he notices the man’s hands on Sherlock’s hips. All thoughts of leaving fade from his mind, and without looking away, John presses himself closer to his partner. Sherlock’s eyes drop to where their crotches are now brushing, and John fears for a second he’s going to be sick. He watches, not breathing as Sherlock looks up again, not dancing anymore and when he feels the man’s lips on his neck, John knows he’s gone too far.

The anger in Sherlock’s eyes makes the lump in John’s throat grow bigger, and he remains still as Sherlock walks away from the dance floor without a single glance or word to his partner. Not allowing himself to be a coward any longer, John isn’t long to follow him but finds the elevator doors closing just as he catches up with Sherlock. Going for the stairs, John ignores the pain in his leg and climbs them two by two. Sherlock is just opening their door when he arrives, and he only has the time to follow him in before he’s closing the bathroom door and locking it behind him.

Eyeing his pajamas, John changes back and goes back to bed, keeping the light on and glancing every two seconds at the door. He can barely hear the water running over the sound of his pounding heart, and the moment it stops, his entire body is on alert for whatever Sherlock is going to say or do when he comes out. Another ten long minutes go by before the sound of the lock finally echoes in the room, and John holds his breath. But Sherlock barely looks his way as he exits the bathroom, turning off the light on his way to bed and getting under the cover without a single word.

“Sherlock?” John tries after long minutes of silence, but Sherlock doesn’t reply, or even move. “Sherlock, I-”

“Sleep, John,” Sherlock cuts him off, the words cold and clear.

John closes his eyes, lying on his back and desperately wanting to roll over and gather Sherlock in his arms. What had he been thinking, dancing with that man like that just to get at Sherlock.  _ Idiot, I’m a complete idiot _ . He should have pulled Sherlock to him and danced with him instead. He should have shown him what it’s really like to dance with someone who’s craving you, who can’t stop thinking about you. He should have been the one holding onto Sherlock’s hips, the one breathing him in.

“If you’re to be so tensed, you should have gone with that boring dentist and let me sleep peacefully,” Sherlock snaps next to him, and John turns his head to look at his back.

_ Since when do you ever sleep peacefully _ , John wants to reply but the words are stuck in his throat. He swallows, lips parted and breath short, and somehow finds the courage to say, “I don’t want to be with the boring dentist.”

“Well it looked like you did just minutes ago,” Sherlock replies immediately, still not facing him.

“I could say the same about you,” John says, regretting it the second it’s out.

Sherlock’s leg shifts under the cover, brushing John’s for the briefest of seconds. “I didn’t even notice I was dancing with someone until you arrived.”

“Right,” John laughs nervously, “You two were practically rutting against each other in there.”

Sherlock does turn around at that, frowning at him, “I’m fairly sure we weren’t, John, and it’s beside the point anyway. I wasn’t going to follow that man anywhere.”

“Then why dance with him in the first place then?” John asks, apparently unable to drop the subject anymore, images of the man’s hands on Sherlock’s body coming back to him. “He looked like he wanted much more than just dancing.”

“I didn’t,” Sherlock replies, staring at him. “I just wanted to - nevermind.”

“Wanted to what?” John asks, refusing to fall back into this habit of them not talking about the things that matter, pretending they were fine anyway.

Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed as he breathes out, “Just wanted to forget.”

John turns to his side, not saying a word as he waits for Sherlock to look back at him. He makes sure to smile when he does, asking in a whisper, “Forget about what?”

Sherlock sighs, his breath warm against John’s face despite the distance between them.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sherlock replies. “The case is solved, we have a long ride home tomorrow, we both should sleep.”

John shakes his head slowly, “We’ve been doing  _ this _ ,” he says, gesturing between the two of them, “for too long, don’t you think?”

“This?” Sherlock frowns.

“Having an opportunity to talk and ignoring it,” John replies honestly. Sherlock remains silent for a long moment, staring at him, his chest rising slowly, and John barely manages to keep his hand to himself, wanting nothing more than to just stroke his cheek slowly. “Aren’t you tired of just holding back?”

“Yes,” Sherlock breathes out.

John inhales deeply, deciding to be the brave one and whispering, “I was jealous. When I saw you dancing with that man, I couldn’t control myself. I was on my way to punch him when I ran into someone, and it allowed me to breathe for a second.” Sherlock doesn’t say anything, eyes roaming over John’s face. “I thought you had left me to go find someone to spend the night with him, and it drove me mad, so I did the stupidest thing I could think of, just to get back at you. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock’s sharp inhale fills the silence welcoming John’s confession, and all too quickly, the words fall out of his mouth, “I wanted to forget what it felt like to hold your hand. I wanted to get it out of my head because it didn’t matter, because it was all pretend and I couldn’t hold on to the memory of a fake intimacy. I didn’t want to hold on to it. I just wanted to forget that for just a few hours we played a part I thought about for so long, and it was already over.”

John shifts closer, the space between them still too wide. “Did you really believed in what you said, that we aren’t meant to happen?”

“Is there even a We to begin with?” Sherlock asks in a whisper.

“Of course there’s a We,” John smiles, shifting even closer. “There has been a We ever since that first evening at Angelo’s when I couldn't take my eyes off of you.”

“That was then, John,” Sherlock replies, sounding all too pained. “So much has happened since. I left, for two years. I let you believe I was dead. We haven’t been a We ever since, and you know it.”

John reaches for him, sliding his fingers down Sherlock’s arm and stopping at his hand, “You’re right, yes, for a long time I was back to being alone and I honestly thought it would be that way for the rest of my life, but you came back.” He exhales loudly, threading their fingers together, “You came back.”

Sherlock closes his eyes again, squeezing his hand, “It didn’t fix anything.”

“Maybe not, but we’ll get there,” John smiles, closing the remaining distance between them. “If we just talk.”

“We’re talking now,” Sherlock replies, looking back at him.

John strokes his thumb against his palm, “We are, yes.”

Sherlock smiles at him, his entire body relaxing under John’s touch slowly, “I wanted to kiss you, when I saw you dancing with that man. I wanted to kiss so you couldn’t think about anything else.”

“Last week, when you woke up from your nap and wandered around the flat half awake, I wanted to kiss you right then and taste the sleepiness on your tongue,” John confesses.

“After every chase, when you’re barely breathing and there’s this wildness in your eyes, every time all I want is to kiss you.”

John smiles, leaning closer.

“When you came back, after I punched you, after I left. I spent the night thinking about coming to Baker Street and kiss the breath out of you.”

Sherlock’s breath is warm against his lips, and John feels his entire body shivering.

“In the middle of the night, when I heard your nightmares from downstairs. I wished I could make it stop with just a touch of lips,” Sherlock murmurs, the words breathed against John’s skin.

“That first night, after we got Chinese, even if you had just turned me down,” John finally says, “I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you and proving you wrong. Already then, I knew we’d be spectacular.”

“John,” Sherlock breathes out. “Now.”

With his heart pounding and head spinning, John closes the remaining distance between them, letting their lips brush in the most tentative touch, and there isn’t a way to be sure who just moaned softly at the contact. It doesn’t matter because Sherlock is seeking his mouth again, and John can’t do anything but part his lips and let their tongue meet in the middle, entering a slow dance that leaves them both panting.

“Sherlock, you have no idea just how much I-”

Sherlock stops him with another kiss, tangling one leg with his and bringing them ever closer together. “I know,” he breathes between two kisses, “I know.”

John rolls them both over, lying on top of Sherlock and groaning into another kiss. “I want you, God, I want you.”

Sherlock arches against him, “John, please.”

John forces himself to slow down, staring down at him, “You’re so beautiful.” Sherlock blushes, making something very warm spread all over John’s chest. “I should have told you, every single day.”

Sherlock slides both hands down his back, pushing the cover away from the two of them and arching once more against him. “You’re telling me now.”

“Yes,” John breathes, leaning down for another kiss and moaning as he feels Sherlock’s hands slip under his shirt. “Yes.”

Sherlock’s tongue invades his mouth again, and John lets him take control of the kiss. It’s sloppy and wet, but John loves every second of it. He bucks against Sherlock’s hips once his shirt is removed, and he hurries to undress Sherlock too, leaving them both panting and staring at each other. John doesn’t say a word when Sherlock’s fingers find his scar, and he lets him explore as much as he wants, both of their arousal growing and growing. By the time John’s lips are closed around Sherlock’s left nipple, they’re both hard, pressed together.

“I want this,” Sherlock pants, “I want to have you, completely.”

John moans, leaving a trail of kisses to his other nipple.

Sherlock’s fingers thread into his hair, holding on tightly, “I’ve wanted to discover every inch of you for so long, I can’t not have you for a minute more.”

John sits back up, staring down at him, “You have me, love.” He lowers himself down Sherlock’s leg, fingers teasing at the still clothed erection, “You have me.”

“ _ John,” _ Sherlock moans, arching on the bed. “Please.”

John kisses down his hipbone as he lowers his pants slowly, making sure not to overwhelm Sherlock and pulls away to remove the last piece of clothing entirely. “You too,” Sherlock breathes, eyes roaming all over his body, and John gets rid of his own pants quickly, settling back between Sherlock’s legs.

“Oh fuck,” he cries out when their bare erections brush together, and Sherlock goes entirely still beneath him. “Alright?” John asks, staring down at him.

“Yes,” Sherlock breathes out, thrusts against him slowly, “Just new.”

“You have to tell me if it’s too much,” John says, stopping his movements.

“Yes, yes,” Sherlock nods. “Don’t stop.”

John laughs, circling his hips again and eliciting the most sensual sound from Sherlock’s mouth. They remain like that for a long moment, simply thrusting against each other slowly and letting their pleasure build and build. John isn’t sure what to expect from tonight, what Sherlock was asking earlier, but he finds that he’s ready to give him absolutely everything.

“John, can I…” Sherlock begins to ask, sliding one hand between them, and John moans as he realises what he’s asking.

“Yes, god, yes,” he pants, letting Sherlock’s hand close around his cock and forcing himself not to thrust into it immediately. Sherlock spreads his legs wider, thrusting up against his own hand and John holds onto his hips, looking down at his lover’s bright eyes. “You’re amazing.”

Sherlock moans, tightening his grip around his erection and John can’t help but thrust into his fist this time, “Oh, god.” The pressure loosens for a second and soon there’s Sherlock’s own cock being stroked with his, and John has to close his eyes to regain some compsure.

“Is this alright?” Sherlock asks, breathless.

“More than alright,” John replies, leaning down for a kiss and Sherlock resumes stroking them both at the same time, his hand covering most of his cock.  

“Is there-” Sherlock begins before moaning softly. “Do we have everything we need?”

John rests their foreheads together, “What?”

“Penetrative sex, John,” Sherlock says, sounding all too serious, and John smiles.

“I’m quite sure I could come just like this, you know,” he replies, still not sure if they should do it all the very first time, especially considering Sherlock’s inexperience when it comes to sex.

“I have no doubt I could too, but I’ve been craving you inside for too long, John Watson,” Sherlock whispers, punctuating his words with a sharp stroke and John bites down his lower lips. “I need you.”

John breathes in slowly, forcing himself not to thrust into Sherlock’s fist anymore or he’ll come, and says, “I may have a condom in my wallet, but an old, very old one.”

Sherlock looks pleased for a moment, and he lets go of both of them, “We’re in a hotel room, don’t they have condoms and lubricant somewhere?”

John focuses for a moment, “Some rooms have a box with supplies, but you have to pay for it.”

“We need to find this box,” Sherlock replies.

“That means getting out of bed,” John points out, not sure he can move anymore.

“I’m sure we can manage,” Sherlock replies, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes, and John can’t help but laugh.

Sherlock is the one to push him away, taking his hand and getting them both to their feet. He attaches himself to John immediately, lacing their fingers and pressing his chest to John’s back, “I’m taller,” he explains when John rolls his eyes, and they both search for the said box all around the room. John is about to say they should just call room service when Sherlock yells in victory, opening one of the cupboards in the bathroom. “There it is!”

John opens the box, grabbing both condom and lube, and they hurry back to bed, falling in a tangle of limbs and laughter. It doesn’t take long for Sherlock to readjust himself under John’s body, locking both legs around his waist and canting his hips high enough to let John’s cock slide against his arse, “God, you’re killing me,” John moans, opening the bottle of lube with shaking fingers.

“John,” Sherlock says, sounding all so serious again, and John looks back at him.

“What is it?”

Sherlock smiles at him, his face open and trusting as he says, “I love you.”

John swallows around the lump in his throat, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden and leaning down to steal some of Sherlock’s breath, “I love you too, Christ, I love you.”

Sherlock laughs into the kiss, and John curses himself for not having made this man this happy before.

“Now, please,” Sherlock breathes when they part, taking the lube from John’s hand and pouring some over his fingers.

John takes his time preparing him, sliding one finger after the other as Sherlock squirms and begs for more, nails leaving marks all over John’s back, and when John reaches out for the condom, Sherlock is the one to shake his head, “No, you, just you.”

John knows they don’t need any, but can’t help but say, “It’ll make it last longer, if anything else.”

“I don’t care,” Sherlock pants. “I’ve almost come three times already just from your fingers, I have no doubt this isn’t going to last long, but I don’t care. I need you.”

John groans, leaning down for another kiss as he lets Sherlock lube his now aching cock. “You tell me if-”

“Yes,” Sherlock breathes out, guiding John’s cock to his arse. “I will.”

John nods, inhaling deeply and so very slowly pushing into Sherlock’s body, losing control of his own breathing entirely. He makes sure to stare down at Sherlock the entire time, watching out for any sign of pain or discomfort but finding only trust and pleasure there. He stops once he is fully inside him, the two of them breathing out loudly, and John can’t help but laugh again, “I love you,” he repeats, circling his hips slowly.

“ _ John _ ,” Sherlock pants, tightening his grip around his waist.

John begins to pull out only to push back in right away, and soon they’re rocking together, the both of them on the edge of orgasm already but John couldn’t care less. In this very moment they’re one and one only, and he never wants to spend another day without being connected to Sherlock in every sense of the word.

“Oh, John,” Sherlock cries out with a sharp, long thrust, “Yes.”

John does it again, aiming for Sherlock’s prostate with every thrust now. He watches, mesmerized as Sherlock gets closer and closer to orgasm until it finally hits, his entire body arching against John as he cries out his name. John is right there too, and with two more hard thrusts, he spends himself inside Sherlock, his cries getting lost into another kiss. Sherlock is still breathing heavily when John pulls out, rolling to his side and bringing Sherlock close again.

“I had no idea,” Sherlock whispers. “No idea at all.”

John smiles, tracing patterns lazily against his back, “It gets better,” he whispers.

Sherlock pulls away just enough to look at him, something close to wonder in his eyes, “We should do it again, then.”

John laughs, kissing him quickly, “You’ll have to let me rest first, I’m getting old you know.”

“You’re not,” Sherlock objects, looking down at their spent bodies. “I’ve researched it, gay sex I mean, first when I was a teenager and then after you moved in. Just in case. There is a lot we can do.”

John closes his eyes for a second, breathing out deeply before forcing Sherlock to look up at him. Sherlock smiles, a little sadness lingering in the curl of his lips, but John kisses it away softly. “We can do all of it now,” he whispers, “for as long as we can.”

Sherlock holds him closer, nuzzling his face against his neck, and John closes his eyes, letting the promises of tomorrow lull him to sleep.


End file.
